As the door clicked shut Andi turned on the light, squinting for a few moments until her eyes adjusted. As they did they caught sight of her reflection.
The face framed there was as it had always been--dark brown, nearly black eyes capped with furrowed, dark eyebrows, a small, slightly rounded nose above a pair of lips that were as thin as Mike’s were full, and a stubborn, pointed chin that was, according to her mother, the “one place that your father felt compelled to assert himself.”
The face was still there, but it was paler, thinner, the eyes no longer shining as they had for twenty years. The dark circles that rested underneath them only accentuated their very dullness.
Her hand trailed down to the stinging reminder of her failure. Lifting her nightshirt, she stared at the jagged pink scar--lips set in a grim line, like some kind of modern art nightmare.
The stitches and bandages had been removed that afternoon. Andi secretly wished they were still there. Her scars were always easier to bear when they were safely wrapped up.
She touched it with cold, trembling fingers. As soon as the sensitive tips caressed the wound the memories came flooding back. Once again she could feel the cold steel tearing into her, slashing its way through muscle and grazing bone. Images flooded unbidden into her mind . . .
. . . the cold, remorseless face of the man who wielded the blade . . .
. . . Mike’s horrified, bloodless face as he pulled back her hands, his eyes locking upon . . .
With a sharp breath she forced herself back into the present, meeting her reflection’s own terrified eyes. As she did the voice of doubt that had been silent for almost a year returned, booming and reverberating through her aching head.
You’re no good, Andi.
“What?” she whispered breathlessly.
You couldn’t even save yourself, the voice snarled contemptuously. How can you possibly hope to protect them?
She turned off the light and reentered the bedroom. She had no idea how long she’d been gone, but Mike had drifted back to sleep--it had probably been a while. She picked up her sword and hopped up onto her bed, cradling the blade in her lap even as she resisted the urge to throw it as far away from her as possible.
For several hours she sat in darkness, watching Mike sleep.
“You’re right,” she said, silently mouthing the words.
The time will come when they are in danger, and you will not be able to help them.
“I did before.”
Yes, you did--with armor and weapons and a big horse under you. Take them away and you are nothing.
Rare tears emerged from her eyes and began their silent, unnoticed descent down her cheeks. Wasn’t it the truth? What if it had been Davy or Micky or Peter--or worse, Mike--who had been attacked?
“Then he would be where I am.”
~*~
An hour later she sat at the kitchen table, her belongings silently gathered and packed into her truck. She paused long enough to scrawl a quick note by moonlight, keeping a cautious ear on the somnolent buzzing that emerged at regular intervals from the fuzzy lump on the sofa. She gritted her teeth, keeping pleasant memories of Micky and his midnight performances at bay. They threatened to dissuade her from her task.
She moved quickly, unable to keep her hand from shaking violently as she scribbled the words that were every bit as painful as the knife had been.
My dearest friends,
I have recently become aware that my presence in this
house has become a disruptive influence. I have watched tensions
between you grow and it is all because of me.
I never intended it to be this way. I wanted so much to
be with you that I guess it clouded my judgment. For this I am
sorry, and because of this I am leaving.
Your financial situation is unchanged. My uncle will take
good care of you, and will do his best to make you the successes
that you deserve to be.
I still love all of you, so much so that I cannot risk tearing
you apart. I am returning to my forest. I ask that you do not
follow me.
Andi
June 29
“ ‘ . . . I have watched . . . tensions between you grow and it is all because of me,’” Mike read, fighting to maintain a normal tone of voice.
Peter and Micky sat at the kitchen table, staring at the worn surface in stunned silence. Davy stood by the kitchen window, gazing at nothing in particular. Peter had discovered the note, barely making it past the first sentence before hearing Mike’s anguished cry. Moments later Mike had come down the stairs, shouting incoherently that Andi was missing. Upon seeing the note, his pale face had turned stark white.
“’I still love all of you, so much that I cannot risk tearing you apart. I am returning to my forest. I ask that you do not follow me.’” Mike let the paper slip from his grasp as he reached out to steady himself against the stairs.
“I don’t understand,” Peter said, fighting tears. “Why would she leave? I thought she liked it here!”
“I guess we thought wrong,” Mike said darkly.
Micky turned away, his stomach clenched painfully. The words he had said to her the previous night were coming back to haunt him. I don’t want my throat cut . . .
Davy turned away from the window. “What are we going to do?”
“What do you mean ‘what are we going to do?’ There ain’t nothin’ we can do.”
“We could go after her,” Micky suggested.
“No. She left us, man. I’m not chasin’ after her.”
“But Mike--”
“I said we’re not chasin’ after her!” he snapped testily, turning away quickly before his friends could see the tears that were already fighting to emerge from his eyes.
On to Chapter Ten
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